


What's in a Name?

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Backstory, Canon Backstory, Family, M/M, Mild Making Out, Nicknames, Same-Sex Marriage, Schmoop, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And that was the nail in the coffin.  Even if Andrew had hated the nickname -- which he did -- he would wear it proudly after that.  Why?  Because <i>Elder McKinley</i> had meant it as a term of endearment to the man he considered his best friend.  And bearing the title of Elder McKinley's best friend was more important to Andrew than any other title could ever be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's in a Name?

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** What's in a Name?  
>  **Fandom:** Book of Mormon (musical)  
>  **Pairing:** Elder McKinley/Elder Thomas  
>  **Rating:** PG  
>  **Warnings:** Perhaps a bit of angst, but it devolves into schmoop pretty quickly. Future fic.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Disclaimer: Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me. If they did, Elder McKinley would have a boyfriend by the end of the show and who the hell knows who it would be at this point? I think my muse it confused. -.-;;; _((Book of Mormon was written by Trey Parker, Matt Stone and Robert Lopez.))_
> 
> **_February 24, 2013:_** So. When Rory left BoM, it gave me all kinds of ridiculous "write-all-the-fic" feels and I'm still in the process of sorting out the salvageable from the crap. It's been a _long_ time since I've written BoM fic. Anyway, I was pretty firmly in the McPricely camp when I first started writing for BoM and I still have a major soft spot for the pairing, but something interesting happened when I saw it the last two times… Rory and Matt didn't have a lot of chemistry. Or at least, it wasn't the same kind of chemistry that Rory and Andrew had. You know who does have a lot of chemistry, though? Rory and Scott. It's an adorable BFF cuddle kind of chemistry. And suddenly, after my last two viewings I had this monster headcanon drifting around in which Elders McKinley and Thomas end up married and with custody of Elder McKinley's nephews. This story is a sweet little slice of life from that headcanon in which the two boys try to harass our intrepid elders into revealing the secret behind Elder Thomas' nickname… with bonus Elder Thomas angsty backstory hogging the beginning half of the fic. ^_~ Enjoy?

**What's in a Name?**  
by _Renee-chan_

Cynthia Thomas had always been protective of her son. He'd never been large, always stood at least six inches shorter than other boys his age. He seemed to hold his own well enough, never had any difficulties making friends -- quite the opposite, in fact -- and was a generally happy child, but still... she worried. He was her baby, the second and last child she would ever have -- the second child she never thought she _would_ have -- and doubly precious because someday... he might be her only child.

Getting pregnant the first time had been difficult, nearly impossible. Sarah had been born late in their marriage, and only after fertility treatments, but she was beautiful and perfect... and enough. Cynthia and David had been so happy to have her, so in love with her, that they never regretted that she would grow up an only child. They never regretted it... until she got sick.

At five years of age, Sarah -- their bright, perfect, beautiful child -- started running down. She no longer asked to go out and play, no longer demanded rambunctious games of tag, or even fought them at nap time. It was insidious, at first, so slow a change that they didn't even see it. But when Sarah passed out cold at her cousin's birthday party from staying out playing too long in the heat, they could no longer ignore it. Their precious, perfect little girl was sick... very sick.

The doctors threw around words like leukemia and remission rates and bone marrow transplants as though they should have some meaning. To Cynthia, however, they had none. The words meant nothing because they couldn't tell her the one thing she most desperately needed to know -- why her daughter was sick. Why was Heavenly Father punishing their family? The doctors couldn't answer her, couldn't give her a reason for any of it, couldn't even give her reassurances that her daughter would get well or tell her what _she_ could do to make it happen. .

It wasn't until a year later, when the treatments were failing, when the donor lists had been exhausted, that they finally gave her words that mattered, words she could hold on to... words that could save her daughter. Those words were these: that a sibling was more likely to be a good donor match. They didn't say any more than that, trusted in Cynthia and David to read between the lines and find the advice that no doctor could legally give and no parents should ever consider -- that to have any chance at saving their first child, they would have to have a second... to use for spare parts.

At first, the idea was so repugnant to them both that neither would consider it, but the longer they watched poor Sarah waste away, the longer they watched her suffer... the less terrible it seemed. And in a moment of true irony, Cynthia's second pregnancy happened with no outside help at all, and with very little planning, even, as though Heavenly Father wanted them to do this. At least, that was what they told each other.

Cynthia would stay up nights, rocking gently in her old rocking chair, cradling her burgeoning belly, and whispering apologies to her unborn child, whispering promises that he or she would be loved, no matter how the rest turned out. That never truly made her feel any better about the decision, though. And when Andrew was born... it was as awful as she had feared. There were tests -- endless tests, each seeming more terrible than the last -- and procedures and this crushing feeling of guilt, made worse and worse with each time little Andrew looked up at her with those wide blue eyes still full of trust.

Cynthia liked to think that she was overprotective of her son because he was her true miracle child, not because she still hoped he could save her Sarah and not because she feared that all those tests and procedures were what had stunted his growth. She fought to keep her promises to him -- to love him, no matter what, but it was difficult, more and more so the sicker Sarah became... the more obvious it became that she wasn't going to make it. And so, the further away Sarah slipped, the more overprotective of Andrew Cynthia became.

He handled it with aplomb, a stalwart of strength, even at twelve years old, but even so, when it was finally time to let Sarah go... he disappeared. It was the first and only time that he'd ever defied their wishes, ever threw their good intentions back in their faces -- and it was Sarah, not they, who paid the price. She'd asked after him over and over that day, finally confessed that she felt a need to apologize that her existence had caused her little brother such pain and all for nothing. They were too afraid to leave her side to go find him, too afraid that they would miss their last moments with their little girl, and every call they made, every text they sent went unanswered. It wasn't until she was gone that they were able to reach him... and by then there was nothing left to say.

* * *

Cynthia Thomas was still protective of her son, still feared to let him stray too far from her side... but he was a man grown, now. Nineteen years old and heading straight for missionary training school, he was still small, still happy, and still more mature than his years. Only now, Cynthia and David doted on him, spoiled him as much as they dared. He was all they had left and they were beyond grateful they even had that much. All those years before, they had been right -- Heavenly Father had wanted them to have this precious second child, not to save their first, but to save their family.

And still, Andrew was the best of them for all that. After his one rebellion had cost him his chance to say goodbye to his sister, he tossed over the idea of rebellion for good. His very perfection as a son brought shame to his parents every time they thought too hard about what that perfection had cost him. Still... neither dared complain. They were too grateful to still have their son.

Cynthia answered each of Andrew's letters with enthusiasm, always quick to support him, always quick to give him whatever reassurance she felt he needed, but after a time... those letters began to worry her, began to rouse her protective instincts, once more. He'd befriended a boy at the training center, one Ryan McKinley. He was from a different area of Ohio than they, closer to the big cities, and Andrew admired him -- a lot. He looked up to him, respected him, talked of few others at the training center like he talked about this one boy. He was different and exciting in ways that Andrew's local friends weren't and, to hear Andrew talk, he thought just as much of her son as her son thought of him. It worried her. Still, she said nothing, gave Andrew nothing but encouragement and an occasional admonition not to neglect his studies for his new friends. Surely this infatuation Andrew had with his new friend would fade when they were assigned their mission partners and locations.

Andrew called her personally with that news, almost breathless with his excitement that he and his best friend were not only being sent to the same mission, but were to be mission companions, as well. They would have a week's vacation at home to pack and say their goodbyes to friends and family and then off they would go... to Uganda.

...Uganda.

Any concern that Cynthia had over her son's potential over-attachment to his new mission partner was abruptly and overwhelming cast aside in light of this latest news. Of course, Andrew was optimistic, excited about it, even. He was too young, too sheltered in too many ways, to have any idea of the kind of horrors he would face in Uganda. But, as always, Cynthia didn't have it in her heart to deny him what he wanted, even though she now feared she would lose her second child in an even worse way than she had her first. So, she did what she could -- though it was precious little -- to see that her son would be safe, would be provided for. She only hoped he would appreciate her efforts when he reached his mission location.

Andrew spent most of his days that week visiting family, tying up loose ends, but most of his nights were spent on the phone with his soon-to-be mission companion, talking excitedly about what was to come for them. Cynthia fielded one of those phone calls herself when Andrew was washing up after dinner one night, spent a few minutes talking with Ryan until her son could come to the phone. He was polite, yet quick with a clever pun or quip whenever the conversation lulled. Cynthia found herself liking him, though she'd have almost preferred not.

When the day arrived to take him to the airport, Andrew was practically glowing with his excitement. He talked through the entire car ride -- about how much good they were going to do the poor Africans in their mission district, certainly, but mainly about how happy he was to be reunited with his mission companion. Even David picked up on the fact that Andrew's excitement was a little skewed. Andrew, of course, scoffed, said only that they would understand when they met Elder McKinley in person. And all Cynthia could think was that, even after talking to the boy, she'd never wanted to meet anyone less.

Of course, when they arrived at the airport, her son's mission companion was already there with his family -- his parents, a younger sister, an older sister who had her own husband and two young children in tow -- and he greeted Andrew with as much open enthusiasm as Andrew greeted him. He was polished to a veritable shine and full of such intrusive goodwill and kindness that it almost set Cynthia's teeth on edge. He could have been the Mormon poster child, so clean cut you could bleed from brushing against him, but there was a mischievous glint buried deep in his eyes that belied that first impression.

And maybe it was that hint of mischief, or maybe it was the rakish fall of his bright red hair that had a mind of its own even in its typical Mormon cut... but Andrew was right. Though she tried her best not to, Cynthia liked Ryan McKinley practically on sight, could see all too easily what her son found so fascinating about him, so worthy of praise. So, she did the only thing she could -- she wished them both well and sent them off together, shoulder to shoulder, smiling and proud. She would carry that mental image of the two as a talisman against her fears for the entire two years the boys were away. Time would take care of the rest.

* * *

"But, Grandma, we already know how they met. What we want to know is how Uncle Drew got that ridiculous nickname."

"Seriously, Grams... I mean... Poptarts? Where the heck did that come from? He doesn't even really like them!"

Cynthia couldn't help but smile at the twinned expressions of frustration on her grandsons' faces. They might not be hers or her son's by blood, but she loved them as though they were, even at times like this when it was clear how much of their uncle by blood -- their other adoptive father -- they had in them.

"Are they on you about that again, Mom?"

Well, speak of the Devil... Cynthia turned to face her son-in-law, just in time to catch that now long-familiar twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes before he tucked it out of sight as he approached. She wrapped an arm around Robbie's shoulders and said, "Well, you know how children are. If you tell them they can hear a story when they're older, they simply pester you and pester you until you tell it anyway. How you two have managed to keep this story quiet all these years is beyond me." She tipped her head to rest against her grandson's and tried to match the hopeful expression the two were wearing now that they realized they had an ally in her. She said, "Truth be told, I've always wondered myself. It isn't as though he's fond enough of them for the nickname to make sense."

Ryan laughed, nudged Scott until he moved over on the couch to make room for him. Once he was settled, he shrugged, "We haven't told it because... well, it's really not that good a story. Plus, Drew hates that nickname and he'll kill me I accidentally resurrect it."

Scott rolled his eyes, "Oh, for crying out loud, Uncle Ryan! What if we promise we won't abuse it?"

Ryan crossed his arms over his chest and lifted an eyebrow, "The same way you promise you'll clean your rooms?"

Perking up at that, Robbie volunteered, "What if we _do_ clean our rooms? Would you tell us, then?"

"Tell them what?"

Cynthia couldn't help but laugh as Ryan jumped at the new voice, then again at the hands that landed on his shoulders. He tipped his head back, then smiled when he saw who had interrupted their discussion. In response to that smile, the semi-stern look her son had been sporting as he approached softened and he leaned over to press a brief kiss to his husband's lips. When he straightened up, he met Cynthia's eyes, asked again, "Well? Tell them what?"

Scott, the older of her two grandsons at seventeen years old, was the one who finally put the question out into the open, "'Poptarts,' Uncle Drew? What gives?"

Andrew cast a sharp glance at Ryan, who shrugged, his innocent smile clearly stating that he'd had nothing to do with this. After a minute of meeting the earnest gazes of his two boys, Andrew finally rolled his eyes and said, "It _really_ isn't that good a story."

Robbie, though younger than Scott by three years, was usually the more persuasive of the two. This time was no exception. He spread his hands wide and said, "Why don't you just tell us and let us be the judge? Come on, Uncle Drew. Where's the harm?"

Ryan tipped his head back, again, raised an eyebrow at Andrew to show that it was his call. Andrew perched on the back of the couch, started running his hand through his husband's hair as he thought. Eventually, he sighed and shook his head, "This is completely ridiculous, but fine. If you really want to know..."

* * *

Andrew had never been on such a long plane ride in his life -- had rarely been on planes, at all, in fact -- and he wanted to enjoy every moment of this one. Elder McKinley had thus far proved to be a great travel companion. Even after knowing him only a few weeks, Andrew felt as though he'd known his companion for far longer than that. There was such an ease between them and Andrew was forever learning new things about his friend, each one more exciting than the last. Like this -- apparently Elder McKinley had a great talent for storytelling. Towards the end of the flight, he'd begun telling one about an Ice Capades show that a friend's parents had taken him to when he was young and his description was so vivid that Andrew could all but see the graceful figures twirling around on the ice when he closed his eyes. When the captain announced that they were beginning their final approach, he groaned out load when the story was interrupted. Elder McKinley just smiled, serene and composed, as always, and promised to finish the tale once they were safely landed.

Of course, they were soon distracted by other, bigger concerns and Elder McKinley never did finish telling that story. Their mission district was to be a new one and Elder McKinley had been selected to be its leader. That would mean paperwork, and a lot of it. That would mean long hours helping his companion manage their tasks, not only as missionaries, but organizing things for the other missionaries that were arriving with them, with no time or space to unpack in their temporary quarters. That meant that they were living out of their carry-on luggage for the first week, not even having any time to unpack, much less tell stories.

The next week was just as hectic, but in a far more joyful way -- the first of their district's missionaries had finally arrived and they were leaving Kampala to move into the mission house. Andrew couldn't have been happier, spent their last night in the city interrupting his companion's sleep over and over, far too excited to sleep properly, himself, and needing to share that excitement. Elder McKinley handled it well, didn't even frown at him for his exuberance. Then again, Andrew knew his companion well enough by then to know that after being cooped up with all that paperwork this week, Elder McKinley was just as excited as Andrew to get started on their real work.

Their first order of business when they arrived at the mission house was to introduce themselves to the local community. The District Leader had arranged for a meeting with the village leader, one Mafala Hatimbi, and the man proved to be a very capable guide. He not only introduced them to the village, but advised them of the dangers they faced in this area of northern Uganda. To say that it was eye-opening was... well, it was an understatement. They were all grateful that the next day was a P-day and they would have time to digest what Mafala had told them.

* * *

Elder McKinley plopped his suitcase on his bed and opened it with a flourish. Andrew laughed as he followed suit, "Glad to finally have a chance to relax and unpack?"

Elder McKinley's smile was wide and happy in response, "You have no idea. It will feel so good to finally get a chance to settle in!" His smile softened as he reached out to grip Andrew's shoulder, "It will be good to begin to turn this place into a home."

Andrew smiled, lifted a hand to pat his friend's. He couldn't really describe it -- the feeling he had when Elder McKinley smiled like that and Andrew knew that it was just for him, but he knew he couldn't get enough of it. Elder McKinley was so bright, so good, such a wonderful leader... Andrew had never had a friend like him before. Simply being around him made Andrew feel smarter, braver... like he could accomplish anything he set his mind to, as long as he had his mission companion at his side. He wanted nothing more than to show Elder McKinley that he was worthy of that gift, that he wouldn't let him down. He wanted to impress him. And if that feeling teetered on the edge of being pride... well. Andrew would just have to remember that it wasn't. That he was just trying to prove he would be a good mission companion. 

A soft chuckle, quickly smothered, brought Andrew out of his reverie. He turned to look at Elder McKinley, who was suddenly very busy digging through his suitcase with one hand. The other hand was covering his mouth to hide that chuckle. Andrew frowned. He hadn't... why was...? His brows drew together as he watched his mission leader slowly lose the fight with his mirth and dissolve into quiet giggles. After a few minutes, Elder McKinley wipe a tear from his eye and met Andrew's gaze with a wide smile, "So... you never told me you were so fond of Poptarts, Elder Thomas."

As Andrew's mouth dropped open in confused shock, Elder McKinley started laughing again, this time loudly enough to draw the other missionaries towards their room to see what was so funny. Andrew turned towards his suitcase... and stared in horror. It was _full_ of boxes of Poptarts. He frantically started pulling the boxes out and throwing them on the floor, hoping that all of what he'd packed was still in there, too. After the second box hit the deck, Elder McKinley caught on and started taking them from him and stacking them neatly so they wouldn't all get broken. Just because Andrew clearly didn't want them, that didn't mean the other elders wouldn't enjoy them, after all!

When Andrew was finished pulling the 16 boxes of Poptarts out of his luggage, all he could do was stare in dismay at what was left -- clothing. Undergarments, pants, shirts, socks... and that was _all_. Where was the rest of his stuff? Who had done this?

Even as the other elders were sorting through the unwanted boxes of Poptarts and comparing favorites, Elder McKinley was the one who noticed that something wasn't right. He walked over to where Andrew was slumped on his bed and put a hand on his shoulder, his radiant smile turning down into a confused frown. He asked, "Elder Thomas? What's wrong?"

Andrew waved a hand at his suitcase and said, miserably, "I didn't pack those. And whoever did pack them got rid of half the things I _had_ packed to make room for them."

Elder McKinley sat down next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "Oh, Elder Thomas... That's dreadful. But... and maybe I'm overstepping myself here, but who had access to your luggage before you left for the airport? Only your family, right?" When Andrew nodded, Elder McKinley gave him a brief squeeze and nodded, too, "Exactly. So, I don't think this was maliciously done. Maybe your parents thought you might want a taste of home, or maybe they were worried that you wouldn't get enough to eat here." He grinned, poked Andrew in the stomach, "After all, you're too skinny already!"

Andrew laughed, cajoled into a better mood by Elder McKinley's words and his obvious care and concern... and the fact that he was probably right. His mother had been pretty worried about him coming to Uganda and she was always harping on him to eat more... this had her written all over it. Elder McKinley gave him one last squeeze before letting go. He stood and offered Andrew a hand up. Once Andrew was up, Elder McKinley winked at him and then said, "Once we're settled, you can write a letter to your mom and ask if she can send the rest of the things that she took out of your suitcase. I'll slip it in with the rest of the post when I make my next report to the district office." He smiled, "Somehow, I'm sure she'd be willing to do it." When Andrew finally smiled at him, Elder McKinley clapped him on the shoulder and turned to the other elders, "OK, elders, we can discuss what to do with this bounty of treats when we're done unpacking. For now, Elder Poptarts and I have to finish our own unpacking and I'm sure you do, too!"

As the other elders filed out of the room, laughing over Elder Thomas' new nickname, Andrew couldn't help but fume. That... that... how could... When Elder McKinley turned back to him, though, all the anger deflated right out of him. The smile on his mission companion's face was so gentle, so genuine, and it warmed him right down to his bones. Elder McKinley walked over and gripped his shoulder, "Hey, it was too good a nickname opportunity to let it go to waste. And besides... if you can't make up awful nicknames for your best friend, who can you do it for?"

And that was the nail in the coffin. Even if Andrew had hated the nickname -- which he did -- he would wear it proudly after that. Why? Because _Elder McKinley_ had meant it as a term of endearment to the man he considered his best friend. And bearing the title of Elder McKinley's best friend was more important to Andrew than any other title could ever be.

* * *

Robbie and Scott looked at each other, looked at their parents, then burst into laughter. Cynthia was blushing fiercely as she figured out that ultimately Andrew's nickname was her fault, a blush that turned to frantically defending her actions as soon as Robbie and Scott figured out the same.

Ryan, on the other hand, had turned to look up at Andrew, still perched on the back of the couch, a soft glowing happiness lighting his gaze. He said, "You never told me."

Andrew cleared his throat as he pulled his hand back from his husband's hair to start twiddling his fingers in his lap. He said, "Told you what?" And the tone of that question was far too casual with false innocence.

Ryan let out a small chuckle as he claimed one of Andrew's hands in his, "That you had a crush on me as far back as missionary training school." As a blush started to rise in Andrew's cheeks, Ryan's lips split into a teasing smile, "If I'd known, I might not have been so stressed over approaching you about it when we got back. I had quite a few sleepless nights at the thought of losing my best friend after I told him how I felt, you know."

Andrew met Ryan's gaze with an evil twinkle in his own before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. When he leaned back, he simply said, "Maybe I thought you deserved to suffer a little for that whole nickname fiasco."

Ryan kept their joint gaze for a few heartbeats more before smiling evilly at his husband. That was all the warning that Andrew had before he was unceremoniously yanked off the back of the couch and into Ryan's lap. As Ryan made ready to exploit Andrew's all too numerous ticklish spots, Andrew held up his hands to protect himself and offered up, "But, uh... all's well that ends well, no hard feelings and all that jazz?"

Ryan let the predatory look fade from his eyes as he contemplated that offer, then smiled and let a predatory look of a different sort overtake his features. He leaned over to plant kisses in a few strategic places about Andrew's face and neck. As Andrew's eyes glazed over, Cynthia loudly pronounced that she was taking her grandsons out to dinner and expected to be gone for at least an hour, Ryan cheekily lifted a hand and waved over the back of the couch.

Once they were gone, Ryan smiled down at Andrew and said, "You really should get a few brownie points every time you quote Chicago lyrics at me... but I'm not feeling particularly forgiving tonight, Elder Poptarts, and your mother conveniently just removed all the witnesses from the house."

Andrew sat up and pushed Ryan back against the couch cushions, an evil smile of his own firmly in place as he loomed over him, "I don't know. I've been suffering under that nickname for years, Ryan. I only left you hanging about wooing me for a week, maybe two, tops. Seems to me _you_ should be the one in the red on the ledger." When Ryan opened his mouth to protest, Andrew leaned over and claimed his lips in a kiss. When they parted, Andrew winked, "Then again, with this sort of payback, we both win... so how about we just call it even."

Ryan's smile softened back to that radiant one that had so caught Andrew's eye the first time they met and as he pulled Ryan back towards him for another kiss, he said, "I think that's a compromise we can both live with... Elder Poptarts."

Andrew paused a hair's breadth from Ryan's lips and smirked, "You realize that quoting musicals gets you nothing from me, right, Ryan? And that the more you resurrect that nickname, the further in the red it puts you?"

Ryan's smile widened and he winked, "Drew... I'm counting on it."

As Andrew grumped out something about remembering to thank his mother later, Ryan threw back his head and laughed. Once their laughter had died down, Andrew set about collecting what he was owed... and was hard pressed to say later who'd benefited more from that debt settlement. And he couldn't have cared in the slightest about that stupid nickname... because being Ryan's husband was more important to Andrew than any other title could ever be.


End file.
